


Untergehen

by der_tanzer



Series: Hitting the Fence [3]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>References non-canon characters and events from Murray's True Love<br/>More non-canon character death<br/>Thanks to Counting Crows (Einstein on the Beach) for tirelessly motivating me.(The world begins to disappear; the worst things come from inside here.)<br/>And thanks to Catyah for the awesomeness of her beta and all the unconditional support</p>
    </blockquote>





	Untergehen

**Author's Note:**

> References non-canon characters and events from Murray's True Love  
> More non-canon character death  
> Thanks to Counting Crows (Einstein on the Beach) for tirelessly motivating me.(The world begins to disappear; the worst things come from inside here.)  
> And thanks to Catyah for the awesomeness of her beta and all the unconditional support

The day he left The Pine Harbor Physical Therapy and Rehabilitation Center was one of the brightest of Murray's short life, so far. It was right up there with Nick and Cody saving him from prison, rescuing him from Dyna Games, falling in love with him—there was a long list but this day was still high on it. It was much better than the day he was delivered there almost a month ago, puking his guts out in a chopper flown by a stranger with no one to hold his hand.

The only thing that bothered him now was leaving Travis Kerensky. Kerensky and Bozinsky had been quite a pair of troublemakers, especially after Travis got his power chair. They teased the therapists endlessly and played harmless pranks on the patients, with a little help from their friends. Well, Murray's friends. Travis had said he didn't have any and so far as Murray could tell that was true. His parents came down from Oakland to visit a couple of times, but mostly he was alone and Murray spent the majority of his free time trying to cheer him up without leading him on. He never told anyone, but he knew Kerensky liked him. It was obvious after just a few days and the goodbye was terrible. Murray promised to call him as soon as he got home, but for all he knew it would only make things worse.

The trip back to King Harbor was every bit as good as the trip to Pine Harbor had been bad. Maybe even more so. Nick had driven the Jimmy home the day before, and taken a bus back so he could go with them on the Riptide. Otherwise someone would have had to go alone and nobody volunteered.

It wasn't Murray's first visit to the boat. He and Eileen had gone out every weekend during his therapy, first to keep his spirits up and later, after he was starting to hobble around on crutches, to practice the stairs and ladders. He was using a cane now, under orders not to go up or down said stairs or ladders without supervision for another month. He didn't take that very seriously, though. He was home. Not visiting for an afternoon, actually home. Even if Nick had carried him over the rail and all the way down to their cabin, even if he hadn't been allowed to touch his computers yet, even if they had half a day's cruise ahead of them, he was still home.

"Poor Cody, stuck all alone up in the wheelhouse," he sighed as Nick laid him in the bed. "Maybe we should go up there and sit with him."

"You did enough sitting in the cab. You're supposed to rest your back, remember?"

"You guys worry too much. But I appreciate it."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it up while it lasts. Another couple weeks and you'll be running our errands again."

Murray smiled to himself, remembering how they'd once predicted the Roboz would do their errands, buy beer, pick up girls. That hadn't happened either.

"I missed this so much. The sound of the boat and the ocean—it's so wonderful down here. Sometimes when Eileen had me in the pool I'd close my eyes and pretend I was swimming in the ocean and the Riptide was at anchor close by."

"Yeah, how'd that work?"

"The chlorine kind of spoiled the mood. Can we go swimming soon, Nick? I really need to get the salt water in my wounds."

"We'll see. The first thing we want to do is make you comfortable. It's going to be a long trip."

"That doesn't matter," Murray said, laughing at him as if he were simple. "I'm already home."

"Sure, you're right. I guess I'm not the sailor that you and Cody are. I always feel a little claustrophobic when we're at sea."

"Like Cody feels in the air."

"Yeah. But you don't, do you?"

"No, I'm equally at home everywhere. In the air you're looking after Cody and me and on the ocean he's looking after you and me."

Nick laughed softly, kissing him on the forehead.

"What about on land, Boz? Who's in charge there?"

"You both are," he said at once, as if he'd given it a lot of thought. Nick suspected that he had.

"What about you?" Nick asked, still laughing at him. But not cruelly. It was more like the indulgent laughter of a father toward a favorite child. "Where are you in charge?"

"Underneath."

"What? Underneath where?"

"Everywhere. I influence everything you do and when I talk, you listen. I don't do anything but I know things. I didn't used to understand that but lately—I've had a lot of time to think. I know now why you guys stood by me."

"Yeah? You finally figured out what was right in front of your face all this time?"

"What, that you love me? No, I always knew that. What I figured out was that you need me. Maybe even almost as much as I need you. Just to give you guys something to do together, if nothing else."

"Are you stoned or something?"

"Yeah, you know, I think I must be. They loaded me up pretty good before we left, I guess in case we hit some potholes or whales or something. Gosh, I'm tired. Which is funny, because I slept really well last night and I've only been awake a couple hours, but—but—what was I saying?"

"I have no idea. Let's just get you into bed and we can talk about it later."

"But I'll have forgotten it by then."

"You already forgot it, Boz."

"Oh. Yes, that's right. Do you think it was important, Nick?"

"Only because I love you." He began unbuttoning Murray's shirt, pushing the slim hands away when he said he could do it himself. "No offense, babe, but no, you can't," Nick said kindly, sitting him up to take it off.

"No, maybe not. I guess I'm going to go to sleep after all. But do you think—would you mind—"

"Mind what? Spit it out already, before you forget."

"Could you rub my back a little? Just for a minute, maybe?"

"You're too much, Boz. You think there's any chance I'm going to say no?"

"You could. I'm going to sleep anyway."

Nick eased him out of his jeans and turned him over, covering him to the waist with light blankets. Murray always got cold on the water, especially in the morning, and he wasn't used to it anymore. He was already starting to shiver. Nick covered his hands in warming lotion and laid them gently on Murray's shoulders.

"You put on a little muscle, you know," he said quietly, making conversation to lull his friend to sleep faster. "Lifting all those weights must have helped. And the sit ups. You said you couldn't do that."

"I guess all I needed was a personal trainer," Murray yawned. "I'm going to miss her a little."

"I knew you would. Pretty girl like that." He kissed the back of Murray's neck and made him shiver anew.

"I never looked at her twice, I swear. But she got me extra cake every day. And ice cream."

"The way to a man's heart." His strong hands moved confidently down the narrow back, finding the sore spots as much by memory as touch. Murray was still skinny in spite of the new muscle, still sensitive around the bones, and Nick was careful not to press too hard. His fingertips brushed tenderly over the bullet scar, small compared to the exit wound on the other side, and when Murray shivered Nick did, too. It was so close. Close to his spine, his kidneys, his liver, which it had grazed and left to catch him out the next day. So close to losing their Boz, just because he couldn't climb. When it was time to fight, fuck or hit the fence, Murray hit the fence and got fucked. Well, maybe the therapy really had made him stronger. Maybe next time he could. It just took practice, after all.

"Nick? You stopped talking. Am I asleep?"

"I don't know, Boz. Are you?"

"Not quite. That doesn't hurt enough. Can you rub harder?"

"Sure. Like that?" Murray gasped and he took it as a yes. "What about your leg? Is it stiff yet?"

"A little. It's okay. Don't stop what you're doing."

"Does it hurt enough?"

"Yeah, almost. There—that's good. That's—that's very…" he yawned, lost his train of thought and finally came up with "…good."

"I'm glad. Funny how much you like some kinds of pain."

"Only from you…"

"Do you hear the waves, Murray? Do you hear the wind in the flags?"

"…love that sound," he murmured, turning his head and rubbing his glasses off on the pillow. Nick caught them before they hit the floor.

"I know you do. Keep listening to that sound, okay? It's getting us closer to home every second. You can feel the engines, can't you? So much smoother than a sailboat." Nick peeled back the blankets and began massaging his scarred thigh. The doctor had done a good job piecing it back together but Murray had lost some of the fatty inner thigh and enough muscle to leave obvious dents and runnels. He was embarrassed about it, oddly enough, and the guys had to be careful not to look too closely or he got upset. He'd already said he wouldn't wear shorts anymore, but they intended to try and talk him out of that. The flannel shirts on the beach were bad enough.

He didn't get upset this time, though, because he was so sleepy and Nick's hands felt so good. For a while he forgot about being shot, about his skinny body being even uglier than before, and just enjoyed what he was being given. He wondered vaguely how long it would be before he could get someone to fuck him; if they would consider him delicate for a while yet or if they'd missed him enough that it wouldn't matter. Murray knew he was annoying and wondered how much it was possible to miss him. By the feel of Nick's hands creeping up over his ass he guessed they'd missed him some. But he was very tired. He folded his arms under his head and went to sleep, still hearing Nick's low, warm voice and the gentle creak of the boat.

Nick kept talking and massaging until Murray began to snore, then covered him to the shoulders and went up to the wheelhouse.

"There you are. I was starting to think I was all alone again," Cody chastised him by way of greeting.

"You did not. Stop being so melodramatic. I didn't want to leave him until he went to sleep."

"Yeah, you're right. I didn't feel alone at all. Knowing he's there, it makes everything different. It makes me feel like my family's back together."

"That's because it is." Nick pulled up a stool and sat down. "I didn't know until today how scared I was, though. Like it was all going to fall apart at the last second. But it didn't. Damn it, it didn't. He made it. We got him back."

"Yeah," Cody said faintly. "I guess in a way I still don't quite believe it. I think it'll hit me in a few days. We'll be in the car, going to the store or something, and he'll be irritating us with some wacky new idea and I'll suddenly realize he's there and it's all—normal. I'll probably start crying when it happens."

"So you're saying I should drive for a while?"

"Maybe." Cody moved to stand between Nick's knees, leaning against his chest. Nick clasped his hands loosely around Cody's hips, holding him without guilt for the first time in nearly six weeks.

***

Murray woke to find himself alone and nearly blind without his glasses. He sat up and felt around but they didn't seem to be there. Not on the bed or the nightstand, although he managed to knock off the alarm clock and spill a glass of water. His cane was leaning against the other side of the nightstand and he never found it, either. He called out quietly, hoping someone was close by but at the same time not wanting to bother them. No one came, so he got out of bed and groped for his pants. It was hard to see but he knew the rear stateroom like the palm of Nick's hand. The hard part was keeping his balance, his first time walking on the boat unassisted in six weeks. He held onto the wall and felt his way to the door, sliding one foot carefully in front of the other. It was easy until he got to the steps, stubbed his toes and went to his knees with a gasp. This was probably why Eileen insisted he not try the stairs alone. Well, live and learn. He turned around and sat on the step for a while, wondering if it would be better to continue up or go back to bed. Or maybe just stay where he was. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and thought about staying there for a while. If only his back didn't hurt, he might.

With a tired groan, he grabbed onto the rail and pulled himself up. Suddenly his thigh hurt as well as his back and the bed called him. But his heart called louder. Murray turned and began to climb again. He made it all the way to the salon this time.

"What was that?" Cody said, pulling out of Nick's embrace.

"I don't know. I didn't hear anything."

"I did. Go check it out."

"I always have to check it out. It's your boat."

"And I'm running it. When you're flying I fucking jump out of the helicopter to 'check it out'. Go see if it's Murray."

"He's in bed," Nick said, trying to pull him back.

"Unless he got up, and that's what you ought to check on."

"Oh, all right. But he's gonna be sleeping and I'll be right back."

Nick didn't see Murray at first, kneeling on the floor behind the heavy table. It wasn't until he saw the thin arm clinging to the corner of the table that he realized Cody was right.

"Oh shit," he exclaimed, loud enough to bring Cody from the wheelhouse. "Boz, what the hell? What are you doing?"

"Hurting myself. I stubbed my toe on the table and my leg gave out. I couldn't find my glasses and—are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm right here." Nick caught him by the waist and helped him up, walking him to the sofa. "Why didn't you stay in bed? You could have called us."

"I did. It's okay, I'm fine. I just can't see. Where are my glasses?" He wasn't annoyed that they hadn't come for him but it was starting to tick him off that he couldn't see and they didn't seem to care.

"Right here. I'm so sorry, Boz." Nick pulled the glasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them into Murray's hand. "I'm sorry, buddy, but you should have stayed in bed. You're not supposed to be walking around by yourself."

"What was I supposed to do, wait all day for you to decide to remember me?" He rubbed his face tiredly, put on his glasses and tried to smile. It was ghastly. "I'm sorry, guys, that was mean. You don't have to take care of me anymore. I'm sorry."

They looked at the scar on his belly, long and ragged from the explosive exit of a large caliber round, then at each other. Only Boz would apologize for falling after they ignored him, against doctor's orders, yet.

"Don't say that," Nick pleaded, sitting down beside him. "You're right, we shouldn't have left you alone. We're supposed to be taking care of you and we let you down. We're the ones who are sorry. Can we get you anything? Are you hungry?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I kind of am. Do we have any cake?"

"Um, not on board. How about a sandwich and maybe some salad? Don't get up, I'll get it for you." Nick came as close to scurrying away as he ever had in his life, unable to face Murray's humble gratitude. Six weeks of pampering had done nothing to make him feel like he deserved it.

Nick came back with a tray of food, including a plate of cookies, to make up for not having cake. But there would be cake later and hopefully the party would help him forget this afternoon.

"I'm okay," he said, a little more convincingly after eating half a ham sandwich. "You guys can go back to what you were doing, really."

"No way am I turning my back on you again," Nick laughed.

"Not even for a minute? Because it's a little chilly and I couldn't find my shirt."

Cody sat beside him while Nick went down and got Murray's t-shirt and his soft beige sweater. Normally they encouraged him to dress less, but he would be colder than usual until he got off the opiates and the scar was like a reproachful eye. He was still beautiful in spite of everything, but that scar would smite their hearts whenever there was any reason for feeling guilty.

Murray ate everything on his plate out of habit, unconsciously remembering the second week of rehab when the exercise nauseated him and he'd rebelled against the food. He'd spent two days with a naso-gastric tube, still working out but not allowed to swim. After that he fought harder and eventually eating became as easy to do as it used to be to forego. But it was also habit to let the guys steal his cookies, and they did.

"Can I go out on deck?" he asked. "I—I'd really like to see the water."

"Sure. You want the bow or the stern?"

"Midpoint, please. Right out there, where I can see both ways."

"Sure. Let me go get your cane."

"I don't need it. Just walk on my right side and hold my arm."

"Are you sure, Boz?" This from Cody, who needed to get back to the wheelhouse and didn't really want Murray outside.

"I'm sure. I can walk, guys. And I need to see the water and—and feel the wind. I need to see everything."

"Sure, whatever you want." Cody went forward alone while Nick walked Murray out onto the deck. He leaned against the railing, staring down into the water, while Nick got him a chair from the stern. When he sat down, he moved like an old man, hunching his back against the pull in his belly. He put his left foot up on the rail and lifted his right leg with his hands.

"Comfy?" Nick asked, smiling mockingly.

"Yes, actually. I've missed this so much, you have no idea. I even miss Mimi."

"I'll take you up for a little flight tomorrow if you want."

"I'd like that. You know, if you're not doing anything."

"Whatever we're doing, you're doing, too. Here, you wait and I'll go get your hat. You don't want to get burned."

When Nick came back Murray was sleeping, his glasses folded in his hand, his vulnerable face turned up to the sun. The wind ruffled his shaggy hair, badly in need of a cut, and Nick wished desperately for a camera. Lacking that, he put a little sunscreen on Murray's face and pulled the hat down low over his naked eyes. Then he sat down to wait, no longer trusting his friend to behave if left alone. But he didn't mind. It was a beautiful day for it.

***

After his nap on deck, Murray insisted on visiting his computers and he was still down there, dusting and putting things in order, when they arrived in King Harbor. He didn't notice when the engine dropped to a lower gear or when the movement of the boat stopped altogether. He was so lost in his world of electronics, so at home muttering to himself about the guys' neglect of his equipment, that it was as if he'd never been gone. He could just as easily have been cleaning up pastry crumbs and spilled coffee from breakfast, as he'd done so often in the past. Even the pain in his leg disappeared temporarily and he moved around the cramped space without his cane.

"Should we go get him?" Nick asked, listening to him muttering and humming down below.

"Why disturb him? He sounds so happy. Let's wait until the last minute and really surprise him."

"Do you think he wants company?"

"Doesn't sound like it. We'll just stay in earshot and make sure he stays happy."

Murray was lost in writing a code he'd thought up back at Pine Harbor and didn't notice when dinnertime came and went. He barely heard the footsteps overhead and paid them no mind. This new program was going to solve a lot of problems, both in the world of video entertainment and in the slightly smaller but more pressing world of his medical bills. Not for one minute did he believe the town had put up enough to actually pay them all, but it was okay. He wasn't going to be a burden anymore.

"Hey, Boz, you gonna come up for air sometime?"

He spun his chair around and smiled uncertainly at Nick, standing in the doorway.

"I—oh, yes. Is it late?"

"Seven o'clock. You've been down here for hours. Didn't you notice we're home?"

"No, I—well, not really. It got familiar really fast, didn't it?" He laughed at himself, shyly, expecting Nick to join in.

"I'm glad," was the gentle response. "But there are some people here to see you, if you feel up to it."

"Really? To see me? Who would—I mean, I—who is it?"

"Come and see."

Murray held his eagle head cane in his left hand and took Nick's arm in his right. He climbed the stairs slowly but with more confidence than before, already totally at ease on the boat. But his confidence faltered when he saw the salon full of people. All those footsteps and he hadn't once thought—Murray looked down at himself, considering his old sweater and faded jeans, and then at Nick, as if asking for help. Nick shrugged just as someone yelled surprise and suddenly they were coming forward to hug him. Murray recognized Straightaway and the Contessa girls, Mama Jo back for a visit, keeping her distance from Max, Quinlan at the table pouring a drink. And Helen, who still owned Pier 56. He lifted the tiny woman half off her feet before his back reminded him not to, his heavy cane falling to the floor.

Not all of King Harbor was there, just as much of it as could fit on the boat. Cody picked up his cane and led him out on the deck for another round of hugs and congratulations, men punching him on the arm and women telling him he looked thin, as if that was new. Everyone was drinking but Murray was still taking codeine and didn't dare. He moved carefully through the crowd and sat down as soon as he could, in the salon where Nick and Cody could find him easily. Toasts were made and Murray to drank his own health with unspiked punch. True to their word, the guys had arranged for cake and he was glad to be sharing it with his old friends. But that made him remember newer friends, people left behind in rehab, still struggling to get where he was now. Suddenly all of his hard work seemed trivial. Easy, even, compared to what some of them were doing. Like Travis Kerensky with two months in and at least four more to go.

Murray dragged his thoughts back to the party at hand, knowing he was going to call Travis as soon as he could. He'd promised and that meant a lot to a man with so few friends on the outside. Poor Travis was probably sitting in the living room at the center right now with his chess board and no one to play with. Suddenly he got up and went to the phone. He had the direct number to the living room and someone would be sure to answer. The music and most of the people were outside by now and only one person saw him fish the scrap of paper from his pocket and dial.

"Hi, this is Murray Bozinsky. Can I speak to Travis Kerensky, please? Oh, hi James." His tone changed slightly, tightened and withdrew. James was an athlete, a runner who'd lost a leg in a car accident, and he had no liking for the geek whose life wasn't destroyed as thoroughly as his own. Murray had noticed that was a rather common theme in Pine Harbor. "Wait, what was that? What happened? Are you sure…yes, of course. No, no, I—no, I didn't…sure. Bye, James." He dropped the phone in its cradle and turned toward the stairs. He had to get away, back to his room, where he was safe and the world didn't invade without knocking. He leaned into the wall and took a step, all his joy and confidence gone. His cane caught on the edge of the stair and fell out of his shaking hand. He wobbled for a single long second on the edge of a very nasty fall and then someone grabbed his arm. Almost before he knew it he was down the stairs and inside his little room, surrounded by the familiar things he suddenly hated.

The hand that held his arm let go abruptly and he collapsed on his little cot.

"Lieutenant," he said softly, without surprise. "What's up?"

"You look like you had a shock up there. Almost fell down the stairs. Bad news from home?"

"My friend. I—I had a friend at the rehab center. I promised to call him tonight but he—he killed himself this morning. Less than an hour after I left." Murray thought about what he'd been doing, lying in the big bed in the rear cabin, murmuring sleepy nonsense while Nick rubbed his back, and could have died of shame.

"You think that was your fault, Bozinsky?"

"I don't know. It could have been. I don't think he had any other friends. He didn't think he did."

"So you think this guy offed himself because he missed you? That's funny. That's so good, I'm going to send it to Reader's Digest."

"You can leave if you want," Murray whispered. "I'm okay."

"No you're not," Quinlan said, surprising him with the disgust in his voice. "You're blaming yourself for something that had nothing to do with you. Melodramatic fools like you, I clean you people off the ceilings and the sidewalks every day. Think the whole damn world revolves around you, don't you?"

"He tried to kill himself before. That's why he was there. I knew that and I didn't—I could have tried harder. I could have tried to make it easier for him when I left."

"You think you were the only one who knew? Was making his life easy your job?"

"They stopped watching him so closely because we were friends. I cheered him up."

"That's hard to believe."

"Everyone likes laughing at me," he said sharply. "Doesn't my misery amuse you?"

"It pisses me off a little. You got no right being miserable after what you achieved for yourself. You should be pretty goddamned proud, if you want my opinion."

"But Travis…"

"Must have been a coward. He must not have had what it took to survive."

"He drowned himself," Murray said quietly, as if trying out the words. "He was quadriplegic and they always strapped him into his chair so he wouldn't fall out. Lap belt, shoulder harness, this strap that held his right arm in place so he could work the joystick. He just slipped into the pool enclosure behind someone else and drove into the deep end. He drowned before they could cut all the straps off."

"Clever guy. Too bad he couldn't put all that energy into figuring out how to live." Quinlan pulled the desk chair over to the cot and sat down, his knees not quite touching Murray's. "Not everybody makes it, Bozinsky. Why in hell do you think all these people came over here on a weekend to make a fuss over you? Skinny little geek takes three rounds in the back at close range and comes walking home again, that's a triumph."

"Actually, only one hit me in the back."

"You gonna argue with me now?"

"No, Lieutenant. But I still don't—it's still not right. Why couldn't he keep trying? He had family, he had a home—it's not like he was…"

"You thinking about that girl again? Sure you are. You never forget a girl dying in your bed. But she was strong, like you. She rode it out."

"She said she might not. That she would do that same thing, here in the harbor, before she went back to the nursing home."

"That place was a toilet," he said dismissively. It had been shut down a few days after Janie Pierce died and most of the staff was in prison. "I could respect someone for choosing death over that. But not over a real home, with real family."

"But I saved her," Murray burst out. "Why couldn't I save him? Why couldn't I—why wasn't my friendship enough?" He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

"Because he was weak. You can't save them all, guy. Not even most of them. Don't you know that by now? People come and go and you hold onto the ones that matter with all you got. Your friend either didn't have anyone to hold onto that hard or he didn't have a good enough grip. Either way, it ain't your fault. You didn't kill him."

"But I didn't save him, either."

"Who the fuck made you think you could? You're damned lucky you saved yourself."

"But I didn't. Nick and Cody and—and you did that."

"Bullshit. You did it, and don't you ever listen to anyone who says otherwise. You were brave, and lucky, and you pulled it out. Your friend—"

"Travis."

"Your friend Travis wasn't so brave. That's all there is to it." His voice softened and he went on. "I won't tell you not to grieve, that's natural. But don't let a coward's defeat darken your victory. Anyway, how much could he have cared about you if he did this when you were supposed to be celebrating?"

"I don't know. Too much, maybe. Or maybe not enough. I wish I could ask him. He could have waited a day, you know. I told him I was going to call and the pool would have still been there tomorrow. He could have given me a chance."

"If it helps any, he probably regretted it once it was done."

Murray shuddered and began to sob. He tried to imagine being strapped into a hundred pound chair on the bottom of a swimming pool and it made him feel sick.

"Doesn't help, huh? Well, you gotta put it behind you. All of it. The shooting, the rehab, your friend—just put it away. You got a life here and real friends who care enough not to break your heart. Best get back to it."

Murray nodded without raising his head. It took him a minute to get himself under control and he couldn't help noticing that Quinlan didn't leave. He wiped his face with an old t-shirt and settled his glasses on his nose.

"Lieutenant, will you help me upstairs? I'm not supposed to climb alone."

***

One thing that Murray was supposed to do was walk, a couple of blocks at first and then a little further each day. So the next morning, after he'd had enough of Cody's quiet sympathy and Nick's good breakfast, he went for a walk along the pier. The harbor was glassy and still in the early morning heat, people stirring reluctantly aboard their boats, some recognizing Murray and waving as he passed. He walked all the way out to the end, past the point where his back ached and his leg pleaded with him to stop, and sat down, feet dangling, looking out to sea. This was the death Janie would have chosen if he hadn't given her an alternative. Down there in the green water, who knew how deep, where they would have been lucky to find her at all, dead or alive. He wondered how many cars and wheelchairs and random weights were down there. How many unknown lives ended here at Pier 56, and everywhere else the land met the water? How many of those people went in on purpose, like Travis into the pool? Untergehen, the Germans said. Going under. Going down. He wondered why them and not someone else. Why not him? Why was Murray Bozinsky so damned special?

He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in thought, feeling the sun hot on the back of his neck. He didn't even know why. But after a while a pair of shadows fell over him and two men sat down, one on either side, feet dangling, looking out to sea.


End file.
